My face is here in the wildfire Myself alone breathing in the night wind
My face is here where the moonlight wanders And the periwinkle grows I can hear the rooks in their light sleep crow
My face is here in the stone wave Hidden in the ditches and the holloways With the pebbles beneath my feet Shining softly like dying stars And the dogs bark far from here
My face is here in the maelstrom My fossil bones juting out into the night air And the insects, sacred whirling through my green black life-riddled hair
My head blows in the wake of plunder obscene A ghost wildness of pollen and seeds.